_Leo._ O, that it were! I would not do this crime, And yet, like heaven, permit it to be done. The priesthood grossly cheat us with free-will: Will to do what--but what heaven first decreed? Our actions then are neither good nor ill, Since from eternal causes they proceed; Our passions,--fear and anger, love and hate,-- Mere senseless engines that are moved by fate; Like ships on stormy seas, without a guide, Tost by the winds, and driven by the tide. _Enter_ TORRISMOND. _Tor._ Am I not rudely bold, and press too often Into your presence, madam? If I am-- _Leo._ No more, lest I should chide you for your stay: Where have you been? and how could you suppose, That I could live these two long hours without you? _Tor._ O words, to charm an angel from his orb! Welcome, as kindly showers to long-parched earth! But I have been in such a dismal place, Where joy ne'er enters, which the sun ne'er cheers, Bound in with darkness, overspread with damps; Where I have seen (if I could say I saw) The good old king, majestic in his bonds, And, 'midst his griefs, most venerably great: By a dim winking lamp, which feebly broke The gloomy vapours, he lay stretched along Upon the unwholesome earth, his eyes fixed upward; And ever and anon a silent tear Stole down, and trickled from his hoary beard. _Leo._ O heaven, what have I done!--my gentle love, Here end thy sad discourse, and, for my sake, Cast off these fearful melancholy thoughts. _Tor._ My heart is withered at that piteous sight, As early blossoms are with eastern blasts: He sent for me, and, while I raised his head, He threw his aged arms about my neck; And, seeing that I wept, he pressed me close: So, leaning cheek to cheek, and eyes to eyes, We mingled tears in a dumb scene of sorrow. _Leo._ Forbear; you know not how you wound my soul. _Tor._ Can you have grief, and not have pity too? He told me,--when my father did return, He had a wond'rous secret to disclose: He kissed me, blessed me, nay--he called me son; He praised my courage; prayed for my success: He was so true a father of his country, To thank me, for defending even his foes, Because they were his subjects. _Leo._ If they be,--then what am I? _Tor._ The sovereign of my soul, my earthly heaven. _Leo._ And not your queen? _Tor._ You are so beautiful, So wond'rous fair, you justify rebellion; As if that faultless face could make no sin, But heaven, with looking on it, must forgive. _Leo._ The king must die,--he must, my Torrismond, Though pity softly plead within my soul; Yet he must die, that I may make you great, And give a crown in dowry with my love. _Tor._ Perish that crown--on any head but yours! O, recollect your thoughts! Shake not his hour-glass, when his hasty sand Is ebbing to the last: A little longer, yet a little longer, And nature drops him down, without your sin; Like mellow fruit, without a winter storm. _Leo._ Let me but do this one injustice more. His doom is past, and, for your sake, he dies.